A Pirate and a Good Man
by Katsu
Summary: In spite of the mutiny on the Pearl, Jack said that Bootstrap was a good man. Why? [SLASH]


Sea water tasted uncomfortably like blood. And yet, it still managed to sting like hell. Jack grimaced and spat the briney mouthful out onto the floor. One of his rear molars went with it, clattering across the deck before coming to rest in all its blood-threaded glory just outside the bars of the brig. He leaned his head back against the water-cooled hull, letting his eyes slip shut as he probed at the bloody, stinging hole in his gums with the tip of his tongue.

Mutiny. What an interesting word. It sort of rolled off the tongue. A lovely word for a horrid act.

The men on the deck were cheering and stamping their feet. It only made his head ache more fiercely. Barbosa, that traitorous pig, was probably breaking out the rum from his personal store, to cement his hold over the men. And that, more than anything - above even the split knuckles, the bruised cheek, the broken nose, the deep cut in his left bicep - was what truly hurt. They'd cast him aside for whatever pathetic rewards Barbosa could offer them, after he'd seen them through thick and thin, through storms and sea battles and long weeks without a single raid.

Oh well, there you were. Someone had once said, "Familiarity breeds contempt." No idea who, but they were bloody brilliant.

He wondered how much longer they'd be keeping him locked up. It was his own fault for taking such care of his ship - there was no escape from the brig, he'd seen to that personally. He and Bootstrap had taken turns being locked in and escaping until neither could find a way out.

Bootstrap. And there was another fine kettle of fish. That bastard, he'd just stood in the back when Barbosa'd broken Jack's nose for him and then slipped out of the cabin. Showed you how much six months in the sack and two years of loyal friendship meant to him. He should hae known better than to put that much trust in anyone but himself.

The rational part of Jack - at the moment a very small part indeed - informed him that he shouldn't be so angry, since Bootstrap really had done right by himself. You couldn't get mad at a pirate for following the Code, any more than you could get mad at a shark for biting off your leg in a fit of pique. He quite happily told that small voice to go fuck itself. The point of being a pirate was only following your own rules when you bloody well felt like it. And Bootstrap could have damnwell not felt like it, thank you very much.

They really couldn't leave him alone much longer. He'd felt the ship change course some time ago. He could be off a degree or two either way, but he was fairly certain they'd be coming across an island soon if he could trust his memory of the charts at all. A nice deserted island where he could peacefully starve until he got tired of the gnawing in his gut and shot himself. What an ignonimous end for an otherwise brilliant career.

On second thought, they could take their time and leave him in lock-up for a while longer. The cheering made his stomach cramp up with anger, but that was still preferable to the alternative.

Footsteps approached, coming down the stairs, wooden and hollow. He nearly threw himself onto the floor, quickly arranging his limbs into a careless sprawl. He pillowed his head in his hands and did his best impression of the sleep of the completely unworried.

No situation was so desperate that attitude could be forgotten, after all.

The steps cam cloer, and paused before the door. He had a hard time holding that perfectly relaxed pose against the power of his curiousity. If he so much as cracked an eyelid, the jig, as they said, would be up.

"Jack, I know you're not really asleep. Come on." It was Bootstrap himself, speak of the devil, and his voice was full of warm mockery.

Jack made a big show of sitting up and stretching, even adding a theatrical yawn that was less than pleasant considering the state of his aching jaw. "What d'ya want, Bootstrap?"

Was that a flicker of hurt he saw in the other man's eyes? Well, good. It'd been a long time since he'd called the man by his nickname instead of his given name, and it was nice to know the significance hadn't been lost on him.

Bootstrap crouched down so they could be eye to eye, grabbing the bars for support. Shockingly enough, he had a layer of stubble on his chin; well, apparently the excitement of mutiny had caused him to forget his morning shave for the first time in years. "Jack, I'm sorry," he said.

"That's Captain. You know, Captain Jack Sparrow, since you seem to have forgotten." Jack smiled, not even attempting to hide the absolute bitterness. "So, what, are you already tired of drinking to my rapidly approaching demise? That's really not like you to miss out on an opportunity for grog."

"Would you just shut up and listen to me for a moment?" Bootstrap said, rather impatiently.

"Why on earth would I want to?"

"Damnit, Jack - " Bootstrap yelled, then immediately stopped, glancing nervously about. Old habits died hard. He continued at a much more reasonable volume, "Jack, I'm trying to help you."

That was a little too much. Jack surged forward and grabbed the front of Bootstrap's shirt, yanking him forward. The other man's forehead met the iron-strapped bars with a solid thump that set his eyes watering. "Help me, eh? Right, then, unlock this door, get me my sword, and let's have us a little chat with Barbosa."

Bootstrap tried to disengage the captain's fingers and only succeeded in causing his shirt to rip. The look on his face was strange; nothing of triumph or smugness, but rather sadness and an equall measure of guilt. "I wish I could, Jack. If I could take them all single handedly, I'd've been your knight in shining armor the moment they told me the way it was going. We're the best swords on the ship, but good footwork isn't going to do us a damn bit of good when they pile on us in a wave." The look in his eyes begged Jack to understand.

Oh yes, he understood alright, but if he acknowledged that it would mean truly admitting that he'd lost the Pearl. He wasn't ready to sink to that level of despair quite yet; nothing said a dishonest man had to be honest with himself anyway. "Bootstrap... William," he began, hard pressed to ignore the hope suddenly shining in the other man's eyes, "we can't let them take the Pearl away, not like this. I said I'd be dead and hung before I gave her up, and I wasn't joking. Got me?"

William shook his head. "Don't think of her as lost. Think of her as temporarily mislaid."

Jack couldn't help but chuckle at that; he'd used a similar line himself when he and William had 'borrowed' a merchant's strumpet of a daughter for a few days. They'd never been able to say no to green eyes that begged like that - hell, William had married himself a lovely bit that possessed such a set. "So then, William, what is our brilliant plan?" One by one, he released his fingers from the front of William's shirt.

"Right, simple enough. You let yourself get marooned."

That killed his smile on the spot. "That's it?"

"Let me finish. They leave you for dead and gone. I wait until they're dead drunk from carousing - probably after we hit that treasure you told us about - and then either steal a skif or pay someone to come get you."

"I'll repeat - that's it? Seems a little short on the 'me doing something' end."

"There's not much you can do, Jack. Come hell or heaven, they'll have you off the Pearl within the hour. It's going to be up to you whether that'll be with or without your guts intact." William tried to smile, but it was a flat attempt. "I'd prefer you in one piece, really."

"I'll second the motion, but under protest," Jack said. To be stuck on an island with nothing to do but starve and bake in the heat.. he'd be mad by the time help arrived, probably. But there weren't really any other choices, and that stuck in his throat. Captain Jack Sparrow, infamous for his plans within plans within plans, and he'd finally fallen into a mess he couldn't squirm his way out of.

William was smiling fit to split his face, every inch of his body showing relief. He undid the sash wrapped around his waist with fingers that were trembling. "Here, I'm going to give you this."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Your wife gave you that, didn't she?"

"Right. That way you know I'll be back for it. I don't own much, but the only thing more dear to me is my sword." William wrapped the sash over Jack's wrist.

"...which is what I gave to you. You just can't get anything on your own, can you mate?"

"World's worst pirate," William answered, using another old joke.

"But the best mate of all." Jack reached out, stroking William's hair back with his fingers. The locks were stringy with salt. William's eyes slowly slipped shut, and he leaned into the touch. Jack had always rather expected him to start purring like a tabby at moments like these.

Well, he would be alone for at least a few days, so it was best to take something fond along with all the bitter memories. Jack tangled his fingers in William's hair at the nap of his neck, dragging the other man roughly toward him.

"What?" William's eyes snapped open.

Jack didn't give him any more opportunities for protest. William's lips were already parted; it was the perfect chance to do a bit of plundering. The world's best mate moaned low in his throat as Jack ran his fingernails down his neck to the collar of his shirt. His hands slipped between the bars as if drawn by gravity. Jack smiled as William began to fiddle with his pants; just what he'd intended. To his profound disappointment, William chose that moment to recall where they were and why, and he shoved himself away so violently that Jack's teeth cut into his lip.

"Now is not a good time for this, Jack," he said, dabbing at his lip with his shirt cuff. A thread of crimson was already beginning to creep toward his chin.

"I can't think of a better time meself, mate. You should want to give me something to remember you by, eh?" Jack finished undoing his pants and pulled them open quite wide to give William the best view possible.

William stared as if hypnotized. "We could get there at any moment."

"We most certainly could if you'd stop arguing with me," Jack pointed out. He knew there wouldn't be too much more discussion. What he wanted, he invariably got.

"Hurry, then," William said, sinking to his knees and pressing his face against the bars. He licked his lips.

The encouragement wasn't really necessary. Jack rested his hips against the bars and William wasted no time.

Just as things were getting interesting, more footsteps sounded on the deck above, quickly approaching the stairs that lead to the brig. Muttering curses, Jack shoved William away. "Go!" he hissed, as he yanked his pants up and began tying them with shaking fingers. William needed no encouragement; he hurried away as quickly as he could, deeper into the hold.

It was insult to injury; that's what it was. Jack looked toward the ceiling in disgust as he quickly looped William's sash around his waist, letting the loose ends fall to cover the rapidly growing ache in his groin. "You're a real bloody bastard," he said.

The approaching men began to descend the stairs, Barbosa in the lead in his torn and stained frock coat, which had been Jacks own torn and not quite as stained coat until about ten hours previous. "Bloody bastard?" he asked. "Is that the best you can do? I think I must not be trying hard enough."

"No, I was talking to someone much more important than you, sorry," Jack said, doing his best impression of casually leaning.

"Oh, God?" Barbosa laughed.

"No, bloody rats. Ship's apparently full of 'em, squeaking and gnawing, not to mention stabbing each other in the back."

Barbosa was unphazed. "I ought to teach a parrot to talk like you. I'd laugh all day."

"I'd teach it all the big words I know. Ought to do the crew right if they realized a parrot's smarter than the current captain."

"Ah, Jack, I will miss these little sparring sessions of ours, you know."

"Why not make it a real one? You, me, swords. Ought to be a lot of fun." Jack smiled charmingly.

"I'm afraid we don't have time. I wouldn't want you to be late taking your office at the lovely little island we've picked out for you. It's pretty, but barren of all things useful. Ought to feel nicely familiar for you."

The two crewmen that had followed Barbosa down crowded past him and unlocked the cell door. Jack didn't bother trying to fight them off; they grabbed his arms in a bruising grip and dragged him out. It was a little embarrassing, but he wasn't going to complain if they wanted to do all the work for him. He wasn't sure if he could walk without hunching over at the moment anyway.

"Oh, I don't believe that anything is truly useless," Jack said, conversationally. "For example, you head on a spike would make a lovely decoration."

"But not nearly as pretty as yours. You're lucky the crew was feeling magnanimous; I wanted to spit you on a sword and go fishing for sharks with your guts."

Up the stairs they went, the two men still dragging Jack backwards. His heels thumped painfully down on the edge of each step. He kept on grinning, through it all, though he did show more teeth than was strictly polite. "Oh, mate, that's nothing compared to what I've got in mind for you."

"Good thing that the last of me you'll see are my sails at the horizon, then."

"My sails. They're still my sails," Jack corrected. As they came out on deck, he was once again surrounded by the jeering faces of the crew. They laughed and taunted him, and a few even chucked bits of rotten food. He grimaced as a particularly nasty bit splatted on his shoulder. Well, the sea would take care of that soon enough.

They dropped him like a sack of potatoes next to the plank, knocking his breath right out. What were a few more bruises added to the tally of what he already owed them for?

"This is it, then, Jack. I can't say it's been a pleasure, at least not up until now." Barbosa nudged him rather roughly his foot. "Alright, boys, show Mr. Sparrow the door."

They picked him up again and set him down much harder than was strictly necessary on the plank. Well, at least they had enough decorum they weren't going to just toss him over the side.

"Well, what do you think?" Barbosa asked. "Rather charming spot for a vacation, wouldn't you say?"

"Delightful." Jack edged forward and peered into the water. Not too deep, at least, and sparkling clear. No sharks. He was very fond of no sharks.

"Why don't you jump on in, the water looks fine," Barbosa said, chuckling. The crew laughed with him. Someone threw broken mallet at Jack's head, and he ducked, almost falling off the wobbling plank. That only made them laugh harder.

Jack fought to regain his balance, waving his bound hands in front of him. By some miracle, he managed to stand up straight again. "Now, I'm sure I'll go for a swim in a minute, but not without my affects. You have got that much honor, haven't you?"

"Oh, but of course," Barbosa said smoothly. The look in his eyes said volumes; Jack had a feeling that if it weren't for all of the men watching, the chief mutineer would be shoving him off the plank with a bullet in his brain as a parting gift. Now wasn't that a lovely thought. "Now, where be Jack's things? We can't send him off without a little mercy."

"Captain. Captain Jack," Jack muttered.

There was some murmuring and shoving in the crowd, and Bootstrap elbowed his way to the front, Jack's sword and belt held firmly in his hands. He handed them to Barbosa, studiously ignoring the man on the plank. That was for the best, but it still stung.

"Thank you, Boostrap," Barbosa said, taking the sword with no regard for how neatly it had been bundled up. The belt unrolled. "And I'll even give you a parting gift, Jack, since we've been such good friends." He pulled his own pistol - which had, until recently, belong to the captain of a Spanish merchant vessel - from his belt and held it up for the crew to see. It was plain, but still had enough of a shine to catch the afternoon light blindingly. "No need to thank me for this old thing - I think we'll all be wealthy enough for new and glittering things soon!" He shot Jack a positively evil grin, pausing for dramatic effect., then threw both sword and pistol overboard. "You want your affects?" he asked. "I suggest you start swimming."

Jack was already well ahead of him; by the time Barbosa had begun to speak, he was diving off the plank, aiming for the splash his sword has made. He was just glad no one had thought it would be funny to bind his legs, or life would have been a lot more difficult.

The water was warm and crystal clear; he spotted the sword and pistol sitting on a small puff of sand that had accumulated in a natural bowl in the reef. It took a little maneuvering to grab both with his hands bound as they were, but he had good hold of them by the time specks began to dance in front of his eyes, forcing him to the surface. His lungs ached.

He broke the surface, drawing breath the moment his mouth was clear of the water. The sound of the waves mixed with hoots and jeers from the deck of the Pearl.

Jack paid it no mind. He set his sights on the near, brilliant white of the beach and began to swim, never looking back. He imagined he could feel Bootstrap's eyes on him the whole way. 


End file.
